Aide-Memoire
by futotta neko
Summary: Haywire struggles to remember the missing part of the tattoo. Michael chooses a risky strategy to try and trigger the lunatic's memory. Inspired by the "Bluff" episode in S1 (the scene where Haywire is drawing the tattoo). Rare Hayfield pairing. Awkward and slow, but very explicit smut. NSFW. Seriously, NSFW. Mildly dubious consent and very dubious morality. Reviews always welcome.


".. no, not pilgrims.. they were penguins, they had-, they had fish, where did they get the fish from?"

Michael sighed from the bottom of his lungs, letting his shoulders drop. They were getting nowhere yet again. He had been standing as still as a post for twenty minutes now, ignoring the tired muscles in his calves, and all that time Haywire had been sitting there on the bed, half-giggling, half-mumbling incoherently under his breath.

"No no no they can't have fish, it's not Friday yet, fish is on Fridays, fish starts with 'f', Friday starts with 'f', it's all wrong.."

It was the second day and they weren't getting anywhere, despite the lack of interruptions this time. There had been too many people poking their noses into the spare cell the day before, staff and inmates alike. Not that anyone gave a damn why one crazy guy was drawing another crazy guy's naked back, but still, it was a distraction, so Michael had made sure they would be left alone this morning. Only to find that Haywire was perfectly capable of distracting himself without anyone else's help.

"I can't see it, it's broken, the pathway's broken.."

The mumble trailed off into a moan of genuine despair and Michael closed the door, turning around. Patoshik was staring at him in confusion. Or, to be precise, in even greater confusion than usual, despite the fact he had been off his meds for a day or two.

"What you doing, we have to keep the doors open, nurse said we always keep our doors -"

"Don't worry", the engineer offered him a crooked little smirk, "they won't mind."

All the sedatives he'd been given had come in handy after all. He'd crumbled them up using the hard end of a paintbrush and slipped them into the water tank of the staff's coffee machine. It had been all too easy. Compared to Gen Pop, the psych ward was a veritable paradise of relative freedom and tranquillity. There were more mental barriers in place than physical ones. Now that the 10 a.m. candy round was done all the badges were having a coffee break with the nurses, and whilst the effect wasn't going to be strong enough to raise suspicions, it was certain to diminish staff activity for a while. According to Michael's calculations, him and his former cellmate would have until midday at least. They were the only two people with a more or less clear mind left around here. 'More' in his own case, 'less' in Haywire's.

Of course, Michael wasn't going to share any of those details. Patoshik was eyeing him suspiciously enough from behind his sketch block already, hands folded awkwardly in front of his chest. There was a whole kaleidoscope of muddled emotions flickering in his dark eyes that always seemed too wide for his face. Michael lost himself there for a moment, long enough for the guilt to creep in and bite him in the gut. He chased it away. There was precisely one thing he needed from Haywire, and he was going to get it. At any Cost.

Slowly, he approached. A pair of unblinking eyes never left his frame as he sat down next to his former cellmate, leaving a little distance. Not _too_ much distance. It was a risky strategy, but it was worth the try. He reached for Haywire's hand.

To his surprise, the other man winced and recoiled, as if from a taser. Michael stopped himself mid-move and very deliberately placed both hands behind his back.

"I'm not going to hurt you", he promised, as patiently as he could. Haywire was certainly putting his calm nature to the test. "You can touch it."

He chose his words with great caution. _It_ , not _me_. His vis-à-vis was staring at him in bewilderment, but Michael remembered it all: Haywire shyly pulling away, just short of touching his shoulder in the utility room; Haywire ripping his shirt at night to get to his tattoo, back in cell 40; his own reactions. But he was ready for it now.

"I know you want to touch it. It's okay. I won't shout at you again, you -."

"I can't", Patoshik whined, shaking his curly head, or rather jerking it oddly from side to side, "I can't fix the path, it's gone! Where does it lead to? I don't know where it _leads_.."

He buried his face in his palms and started rubbing it furiously when Michael reached out again, more determined this time, peeling Haywire's long, thin fingers off his right cheek. One guarded brown eye was watching him closely as he pulled that huge hand towards him, as gently as he could, carefully pressing it to his own chest. It turned out to be pleasantly warm against his skin. Haywire did not protest this time. He instantly stopped rubbing his forehead and used both eyes to gape at him. But something had changed in their expression, it looked a little more like justifiable, _healthy_ confusion – and a little less like the groundless befuddlement of a madman.

"You can do it, Charles", Michael reassured him softly. The so addressed exhaled visibly at the sound of his first name, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. It must have been a while since anyone had called him that. "You will remember."

Michael wasn't just saying that for encouragement, no, he genuinely believed it, and he'd rarely been wrong about anything in life. Truth was, he kept pondering over his former cellmate and their ill-fated encounter in Gen Pop whenever he lay awake at night. Not that there weren't other, much more important issues to worry about. But Haywire just kept popping up in his mind like a really annoying tumbler toy. Hard as he might try, Michael could not get over it. All the months he'd spent designing his tattoo, making sure it was unreadable to anyone but himself, every clue he'd hidden there because he simply wasn't able to remember them all.. And then Haywire came along and figured it all out in a matter of days, and drew it from scratch after catching one quick glimpse of it in the shower room! Michael had inspected those drawings once his cellmate had been taken care of. They had been accurate to the dot, not to mention surprisingly artistic. That crazy, psychotic weirdo with all of his awkward gesturing and deranged talk had the kind of intuition and photographic memory that Michael could not even begin to comprehend. He could hardly even believe that such a thing _existed_.

It had intrigued him and hurt his pride in roughly equal measures. He even remembered gloating to himself when Haywire earned a hot shot, not usually his style. He simply wasn't used to it, to being outsmarted and beaten at his own game, and he had certainly not expected anyone to do that to him here at Fox River. Not even after reading all about Charles Patoshik, his PhD from Harvard and his four 'mathematician of the year' awards. Of course, Michael had done some research on all of the prison's inmates, but for the most part he would simply skim the data to identify whether they could be an asset or a hindrance. Patoshik, on the other hand, had instantly caught his eye, and for the stupidest of reasons, too. The search had brought up an article he had published not long before being admitted, and there was a photograph of him looking pretty smart in his suit and tie, with his hair combed back neatly and warmth in his eyes rather than a clozapine-induced vacuum. He looked like the kind of guy Michael would be drawn to under _normal_ circumstances, an eccentric scientist, not to mention tall and weirdly handsome. So he ended up reading Patoshik's article, just out of interest. It offered various ideas on a few of the famous millennium prize problems, something the engineer had briefly touched upon in the theory modules of his own studies. Very briefly indeed, as it turned out, since he only understood about a third of that article. Some of it was so barking mad he was surprised Patoshik had managed to get it printed in a peer-reviewed journal, well, he wouldn't be the first person to go mad over these problems. Other parts, however, were utterly genius. Some of that brilliance had to be in there still, hidden behind thick shrouds of insanity, Michael was sure of it. He just needed to bring it out, to trigger it, somehow, to make Haywire remember..

He offered him the most encouraging smile he could muster, though he wasn't sure how that went, he was often told that he looked sad even with the corners of his lips curled up. Yet girls seemed to like that for some reason. Guys, too. Not that Michael wanted Haywire to _like_ it, well, he wasn't sure _what_ he wanted, but something had to happen _right now_ , he was running far behind on a project with an error margin of zero days, something just _had_ to -

And it did. Very, very cautiously, Haywire stretched out the other hand and placed it on his pectoral muscle, right next to the first one. His hands were rough and so large they almost covered Michael's entire chest. The engineer held his breath, not daring to move a single inch for fear of discouraging his key to the solution.

".. whoa.."

Yet he could not help but smirk at the genuine awe in Haywire's voice. The mathematician frowned and gave a shaky sigh as he let his fingers slide down, slowly and deliberately, tracing the grey lines on his skin, the demon horns, the sword, the feathered wings..

".. like tunnels.."

How the hell would he even _know_ that! Michael shook his head, amazed. Back in Gen Pop, Haywire's hunches had been a concern, to say the least. But now they were like music to his ears.

"That's right", he whispered, "like tunnels. Can you see them?"

"Yes", Haywire nodded eagerly, leaning forward until his face was hovering just inches away from Michael's chest, eyes following the explorative movements of his fingertips. He looked as excited as a little child unwrapping his expensive Christmas present. "Yes, yes, I can see.. it's not the pathway to hell at all."

"No, it's not."

"You're not the devil, you-.. you're the _angel_!"

The engineer cocked a brow at him, not quite sure how to respond to that. Most people were easy to read, he could predict their thoughts and actions several steps ahead, but Haywire's wide open gaze was a book with seven seals. It was driving Michael crazy, not being able to tell what went on behind that high forehead, what his reasons and intentions were. The only thing he knew for sure was that Haywire was looking at him with ridiculous, almost religious reverence in his puppy dog eyes. It was the one thing that Michael was going to use to his advantage, so he nodded a little, as much as his pangs of conscience would allow. Out of all the less than dignified things he had done at Fox River, setting Haywire up was probably the one that he was the least proud of. The other man did not seem to remember it, but that hardly made it any better, and right now Michael was using him in the most shameless of -

His thoughts cut off as Haywire moved his face even closer and pressed his warm lips to Michael's chest, wiping the line of reasoning from his mind. The engineer froze where he was, holding still as Haywire started kissing him, cautiously at first, slowly moving along the lines of ink. He seemed to be gaining a little more confidence with every inch, opening his mouth to suck in Michael's skin and lick him with increasing fervour, as if he were covered in maple syrup all over. Haywire's hands slid down to his belly, stroking it lightly. Michael could feel his muscles flutter underneath. He flinched, shaking off the rigidness in his body, and instantly his brain burst back into activity like a beehive that had been poked with a stick, maybe this was taking it too far, he should stop it before -

He clenched his jaw as Haywire discovered a nipple and started swirling his hot, wet tongue around it with unexpected determination, biting it softly. It made Michael's skin burn in an entirely unforeseen way, but no, he couldn't stop, he just had to bear it, there was nothing he wouldn't do for Lincoln, even if it meant prostituting himself, which, essentially, all of this was. If he could take getting his toes snipped off then, surely, he could take _this_. He could take it pretty well, actually. He peeked down at the lunatic nestled against his chest, fighting the sudden impulse to thread his fingers into Haywire's dark curls, to close his eyes and let himself go for a moment. He wasn't used to being touched with such devotion, not that anyone had touched him in a while, at least not in a way that didn't involve hurting him. But Michael resisted, fisting the sheet instead and staring into space. He wasn't supposed to _enjoy_ this, how could he _possibly_ enjoy it, this guy was mad as a March hare, a murderer! Maybe if they had met under different circumstances, during his exchange term in Harvard, then, maybe, they might have found that their brains were the same, clinging to patterns in everything and everyone, and, _maybe_ , they could have.. But right now, Michael wasn't even sure if Haywire had a single clue what he was doing.

Yet when the mathematician sat up again his expression was surprisingly clear. His face seemed more relaxed and Michael realised that the main reason he had been looking so demented was the stupid habit of pushing out his chin. Which he wasn't doing right now, and it made him look much more like the guy in the photograph, almost handsome, almost _normal_ , were it not for the intensity of his stare which, for some reason, was resting on Michael's lips. An intensity that was becoming less unwanted by the second. The engineer could feel his ability to control this situation starting to slip through his fingers. It took some effort to try and control his breathing alone.

"Haywire, do you think you will be able to -"

"What's this?"

"What?", Michael pressed out, more abruptly than intended. Just the way this crazy genius was gazing at him out of narrowed eyes full of admiration.. It was giving him goose bumps and bringing out some very misguided feelings that he would have rather kept buried forever.

"Is it part of the pathway?"

Though he would never dare to admit the way that Haywire had spoken to that dark, hidden place inside of him back in Gen Pop, never letting him out of sight, following him everywhere, like a stray dog begging for a new owner. How much Michael was craving to be wanted and _needed_ at a much more profound level than what his usual, casual encounters had to offer. At a level that wasn't even _healthy_ , some would say. How frighteningly easy it had been to give up his life because Lincoln _needed_ him, because it made him feel less like the abandoned little boy that he still was, deep down, despite his lucrative job and his posh flat. He could do without being reminded of any of those broken feelings, at least he thought he was done with Charles Patoshik once and for all, he'd never even thought they would come as close as being cellmates, and now..

"What are you talking about?"

"This."

Haywire stretched out a hand, dipping his fingers into the little dent on Michael's upper lip. It still took the engineer a moment to realise what he meant. His brain wasn't processing information at its usual speed, honing in on the inappropriate touch instead. And Haywire wasn't even interested in _him_ , he just wanted _the tattoos_! It was pathetic.

"It's nothing", Michael shook his head, but Haywire's inquisitive fingers remained glued to his philtrum. "Just a scar."

"How did you get it?"

"It doesn't matter. I need you to -"

" _I_ told you a secret", Haywire argued compellingly, refusing to let go of his own agenda. " _You_ tell me a secret."

Michael squinted at him in exasperation, but the other man's face bore the unbudgeable stubbornness of a toddler – or a true madman.

"Alright", he finally conceded.

He hated talking about his childhood, even the happy memories. It brought back so much pain that he preferred to keep locked up. And this wasn't even a particularly happy memory. He could lie, of course. But something told him that Haywire would know.

"When I was four, I thought I cracked the secret to flying. I made myself cardboard wings and.."

He had to concentrate hard to articulate each word in an orderly fashion with Haywire studying him from way too close with those boundless eyes, trailing the curve of his lips with two fingertips as he spoke. He could have taken Haywire's hand away. But he chose not to.

".. I climbed onto the kitchen counter, because that seemed high enough to a four-year-old, and then.."

He was cut off as his former cellmate burst into a fit of giggles, almost folding in half. Haywire's laugh was as whacky as it was infectious. Michael could not help but chuckle in return. He let his guard down, he left his mouth open, and the next thing he knew Haywire was covering it with his lips, sliding his tongue inside. It caught Michael strangely unprepared, despite everything that built up to this moment. It cut a trail of heat through his core and made his heart jerk furiously against his ribcage. And yet he _knew_ , from the moment he had closed that door he knew, oh, he had done his calculations, he was aware of all possible consequences, he _knew_ , maybe he was _waiting_ for it. Why, then, did it feel so _raw_? He must have hoped that he would recoil from it in disgust, either with Haywire, or, far more likely, with himself. But he didn't.

It was Haywire who backed off almost instantly, not all the way, just a little. The tips of their noses were still touching. Michael could see every freckle on his skin from this close. Haywire had that look in his eyes, the frightened acceptance of a child who had learnt all of life's lessons the hard way, who knew that every misstep led to a punishment. Michael recognised the look, because he remembered exactly how that _felt_.

"It's part of the pattern", Haywire muttered apologetically, his breath shaky against Michael's lips. He smelled like peppermint. At least he took really good care of his teeth. And with impressive randomness he elaborated: "You're like the perfect circle."

Michael curled a hand around his neck and pulled him back into the kiss, just to shut him up. He finally risked closing his eyes, tired of competing in a staring contest against someone as stupidly unyielding as a cat. He also couldn't bear to watch the other man's distressed confusion any longer. None of this was Haywire's fault, he was just a lamb to the slaughter. Haywire did not even know how to kiss, or maybe he forgot. He stayed helplessly nudged against Michael's lips but not daring to move his own, hesitantly flicking his tongue in and out of Michael's mouth. The engineer had to do all the work, not that he was an expert kisser himself. He liked to avoid intimacy as much as possible when blowing off steam, preferably with people he did not need to trust or care about. And now the whole success of this enterprise and months upon months of meticulous planning depended on whether or not he could entice his former cellmate to trust him, and to care.

And indeed, Haywire was catching on. He got with the program soon enough, wrapping both hands around the engineer's head and kissing him so deeply and with such relentless need as if trying to get to his soul through his throat. There was something shamelessly compulsive about Haywire, even the way he kissed, a kind of unfiltered emotion that blew Michael's composure and sent his pulse racing against his thoughts. It's only for Lincoln, he kept telling himself over and over again, like a silent mantra he recited as Haywire sucked on his tongue, stroking his scalp through the closely cropped hair. Though it did little to explain what Michael's own fingers were getting up to, sneaking across to undo the first few inches of Haywire's overall. He was naked underneath, the goddamn freak! Michael groaned, half pulling on his chest hair, half trying to push him off to get some air into his lungs. He was still hoping to coerce his hands into behaving when Haywire let go of his head and started rubbing down his chest and stomach once again, only he ended up a little lower this time. Low enough for Michael to hiss and bite him on the tongue, finally managing to shove him away.

Haywire was all flushed cheeks and exposed collarbones, and yet he had an almost philosophical air about him now, despite the speck of blood at the corner of his parted lips. If anything, he seemed calmer than usual, giving Michael the sudden urge to punch him and make him bleed some more. An urge that only grew stronger once Haywire decided to open his mouth again.

"You got a hard-on", he informed the engineer helpfully, adding an award for stating the bleeding obvious to his various other achievements. "Do you like me?"

Michael gaped at him in silence, still catching his breath and wiping Haywire's saliva off his mouth. He was lost for words, not that he was much of a talker anyway, he never said everything he knew, but he liked to make sure he knew everything he said, and now there wasn't much left to be put into words. Haywire was turning him inside out with those eyes that opened into deep, dark space.

"Get up."

"What?"

"I need to.. -, you have to show me!"

Michael found his legs already straightening to obey the lunatic even as his mind was still debating the questionable command. He stood in front of Haywire with his heart in his throat and his nails digging crescents into his palms, wondering when the hell he had stopped being in charge, and how the control freak he called his brain could ever allow that to happen. But with Haywire, it didn't really matter, Haywire didn't even _understand_..

Or maybe he did. He had that focused frown on his face once again, carefully placing both hands on the top half of Michael's overall that was bunched at his waist.

"Wait..", the engineer tried as Haywire's thumbs brushed over his hip bones. He was going to say that there were no tattoos below the waistline and tell this freak to take his paws off him..

He bit his lip instead, letting Haywire pull down his underwear with the rest of the overall, and there was not a single good reason he could conjure up to justify it, not one, there was nothing calculated about _this part_. There was just a silly thought he could not get rid of ever since the moment Haywire first stepped into his cell, ever since the first time he set eyes on the mathematician's wiry shape and realised that he remembered every detail of Charles Patoshik's biography by heart. It wasn't even a _thought_. It was as if a tiny part of his brain just burnt, like from one of those little strokes that go unnoticed. The lunatic being drawn to the maze.. well, maybe it worked both ways.

Their eyes locked when Haywire opened his mouth as wide as it would go and took him all the way in. With the amount of practice his gag reflex was getting, it was no surprise he had it well under control. He pulled Michael's cock so deep into his mouth the engineer could feel it nudge the back of his throat. The surge of heat nearly swept him off his feet. He gasped and swayed a little, forgetting to think as he clenched both hands into shaggy curls, looking down. Haywire was staring up at him, unblinkingly, he never seemed to close his eyes at all. He looked insanely hot with his lips wrapped tightly around the hardened shaft and with such an unabashed adoration in his gaze, such a desire to please..

It was all too much to take. Michael let his head drop back, staring up at the dirty ceiling as Haywire started to slide his mouth along the whole of his length, without much skill, but eagerly enough to make his knees shake with pleasure. And a good portion of anxiety, too. He was terrified Haywire might bite it off by accident. Or, maybe, even on purpose. Who knew what went on inside his head. It was wrong to be doing this, _this_ , with a guy who clearly had more than just a couple of bats in the belfry. So wrong. The needle in Michael's moral compass was spinning out of control, but the fear and the shame were like needles too, only sharpening the sensation of Haywire's mouth sucking him deep and hard and and with unrelenting enthusiasm.

The engineer clenched his jaw, stifling all the embarrassing sounds that were threatening to escape him and let the entire psych ward know how _good_ this was, how amazing Haywire's greedy tongue felt swirling around his cock and lapping at the tip, hungrily licking off his pre-cum, what a turn-on those muffled little moans were the mathematician was giving every time his nose pressed against Michael's groin. The engineer panted through gritted teeth, lightly stroking the other man's head in approval as it kept bobbing up and down underneath his fingertips. He barely even noticed that he was nudging his hips forward ever so slightly, rubbing into the soft, wet heat of Haywire's mouth, his legs taking on a decidedly jelly-like quality, because, God, it had been too long and he needed it so badly, he just -

Haywire stopped without as much as a warning and removed his lips, leaving Michael breathless and trembling and with an aching knot pulsing in his lower stomach.

"Show me the back."

The engineer scowled at the other man in a strange mixture of anger and confusion. He'd forgotten all about the tattoo, about Lincoln, everything. Screw breaking out, screw it to hell, all he wanted was to ram his throbbing cock all the way back into Haywire's mouth and explode down his throat, he just needed a little longer, just a little.. only, if he were to use force he could never, ever face himself in the mirror again.

"Come on, show me the back."

Michael exhaled in frustration, slowly winding his fingers out of Haywire's hair and making a move to turn around – when the other man stopped him, gripping his arm with an urgency bordering on obsession.

"No, not like this. Lie down. Show me."

Something had shifted in Haywire's expression, in his voice, there was a new note that left no room for objections. It tugged at the knot in Michael's stomach and pulled it desperately tight, taking his head out of the equation for good. At least the one further north. His skin felt like popping candy. The engineer let one knee sink down onto the bedframe, only hesitating for a moment before stretching out on his front.

Haywire certainly had no time to waste, climbing on top of him like some sort of big, crazy cheetah. A cheetah that was surprisingly heavy given his lanky frame, pressing him deep into the bed and nearly cutting off his air. Michael felt painfully weak all of a sudden, almost helpless, something he had not felt in a long, a very long time, something he never wanted to _be_ again. Yet there was this spark of absurd excitement lurking around the darkest corner, making him want to run for the hills, to get as far away as he could, map or no map. And at the same time, it made him want to lie still, anxious to discover what Haywire had in store for him. That was how his muscles chose to behave. Or not to behave. All the amazing things the engineer's brain could do, and yet his own body was a complete mystery to him right now.

He shivered as if from a rising fever when Haywire started to trace the lines on his skin once again. The mathematician muttered something incoherent against his sound shoulder blade before shifting and licking along his spine, sliding further along his body inch by inch, until.. Michael bit down on his wrist, but too late. The lunatic had pushed his cheeks apart and stuck his face in between, making him moan out loud with the flat of Haywire's warm, wet tongue pressed against his hole. All of a sudden, Michael remembered where they were. He whipped his head around to stare at the door in panic. Had there been steps outside in the corridor just now? What if he miscalculated, what if someone came in and found them _like_ _this_.

All of those thoughts were uniquely difficult to focus on with Haywire licking him so intimately and making his muscle contract and loosen and contract over and over against the mathematician's lips. Michael stuffed a fist into his mouth, and still, he could barely keep quiet when his body finally gave in, letting Haywire's long, eager tongue slide inside and swirl around, making him see stars against the darkness of his clenched eyelids. And if someone found them, what were they going to do, jail them? He let his head drop into the mattress, giving quiet little whimpers as Haywire was eating his arse whilst holding his trembling thighs in place with those huge, rough hands of his. Michael could probably come just like that, just from lightly grinding his hips into the firm bed and then up against Haywire's bristly face, but, of course, the lunatic wouldn't let him, the lunatic seemed intent on driving him crazy, wouldn't that be ironic!

"Can't get deep enough", Haywire complained as he came back up, panting against the flushed skin of the engineer's neck. His voice had turned dark and husky, suddenly laced with reproach, almost menacing. For the first time, Michael could actually believe the guy had killed both his parents with a shotgun. "The path, it's _beautiful_. You shouldn't have _broken_ it."

"I'm sorry", the engineer muttered, or at least tried to, burning up as he pulled his sweaty hand from his mouth. He had no idea what he was apologising for, and why to Haywire. Though the guilt felt surprisingly real. The goddamn psycho had a way of unhinging him like no sane, no _predictable_ person ever could. Or would ever be allowed to.

"I can fix it", Haywire whispered, more placably this time, shuffling on top of him. That tongue came out again to lick across the raw wound on his shoulder, making him wince at the jolt of pain. It did little to curb his arousal. Oh good. Haywire wasn't just crazy, he was _also_ a pervert!

"I can fix the path, but I need to _see_ it, from the _inside_ , I have to -"

"Alright", the engineer mumbled, without thinking, without even knowing what he was agreeing to _exactly_. Haywire couldn't possibly intend to -, he couldn't _actually_ mean -

Or maybe he could. He took his weight off Michael's back and sat up, straddling him. The engineer dared to glance over his shoulder – only to find his former cellmate looking even more dishevelled than usual with his hot mess of dark curls and his wild eyes like smouldering coal, undressing him, though all he was wearing at this stage were his shoes and the overall scrunched around his ankles. Haywire looked more purposeful than ever, too, ridding himself of his own overall. Which answered a question that had been tucked away at the back of Michael's mind. A doubt whether the mathematician's obsession with the damn tattoo had been nothing but an obscure quirk of his malfunctioning brain.. or whether Haywire's body was reacting in the same way that a normal guy's would. The answer to that second question was 'yes'. It was a _massive_ 'yes'.

"Oh, fuck."

Michael's eyes widened in dismay – and grotesque excitement. He instantly turned away to hide his burning face. Obviously, Haywire wasn't quite as out of it as he'd assumed. Maybe he wasn't the lamb after all. Or maybe there was simply more than one slaughterhouse in this whole fucked-up scenario. The freak was already stretched out on top of him again, covering his frame and letting him _feel_ it, too, hot and slick against his entrance, allowing panic to creep in. Michael hadn't done this in a while, and never without lube and a condom, or with someone this big. Or in a situation where he couldn't even make a single sound.

" _Fuck_."

It wasn't quite what he'd signed up for when asking Haywire to touch him. Yet his body was signing up for it right now. It was signing up so hard it was running out of application forms. He was almost trembling with need, a hopeless tangle of raw, humming nerves. Not that he had much of a choice left, anyway. Haywire was strong, much stronger than he looked. Michael could tell by the lunatic's iron grip on his left arm, holding him down. They were evenly matched for strength, most likely, but Haywire had the unfair advantage of insanity. If the engineer resisted, somebody might get hurt, there would be noise, the guards would come running and there would be consequences, and he might just as well forget about filling in the blanks.

It was all he could do now to try and relax and just let it happen as Haywire pressed inside, growling softly into his ear. The bastard did not even think of using a finger, or show any kind of consideration at all, roughly shoving his enormous cock past the tight ring of muscle. Michael gasped, tearing up, teeth digging into the sheets as his body spasmed in shock and protest. It was excruciating. It felt like being split in two and torn to pieces. But he had brought it upon himself, really. He deserved it all. His mind went limp and heavy, blacking out for a moment. And then the next moment came and Haywire pushed in even deeper, grazing his prostate and lighting him back up head to toe. He jerked and twisted, head reeling with the intoxicating mixture of pain and pure bliss, helplessly moaning into the mattress. Michael was hoping it would swallow the sounds, but it failed him. Haywire paused, and the engineer could feel him hesitate for a fraction of a second before pulling out nearly all the way, obviously disturbed by his reaction. He quickly reached behind him with his free arm, clawing at the mathematician's back.

".. no..", Michael urgently pressed out in between hitched breaths, ".. stay.. just.. not so _hard_.."

His cheeks felt almost as hot as his backside. He certainly never had to give anyone instructions on how to fuck him before.

"Okay", Haywire muttered, suddenly lost, "okay, okay."

He stayed there for a little while with just the tip of his cock lodged inside Michael's body, driving his sphincter insane. Then he entered the engineer again, more smoothly and carefully this time. The movement felt much slicker and burnt like hell, Michael knew he was bleeding, but none of it mattered when Haywire hit that spot once more, almost lifting him off the bed.

"Like this?"

The lunatic could not possibly expect him to talk through this breathtaking rhythm he was building now, slowly withdrawing before inching back in, a little deeper each time.

"Like this?"

Oh, the lunatic _did_ expect him to talk! Michael gritted his teeth, feeling the urge to strangle him with a macaroni necklace for the hundredth time. And that was just today.

".. yes..", he grudgingly confirmed, sweating out of every pore, ".. just like this.."

It wasn't even true at this stage. His body seemed conveniently forgetful about the fact it was still in agony, wriggling and squirming as Haywire continued to go easy on him, torturously easy, just what he had asked for, of course, but it already started to feel like yet another round of teasing. It hardly made any sense. The past half hour of his life hardly made any sense. Michael was a complete mess, a desperate, wet mess with a tight ball of heat pulsing in his core and radiating through him, making him resort to begging.

".. more..", he mumbled in frustration, letting go of the last shred of pride he had left, ".. more.."

It was barely audible, but Haywire must have heard it. He complied, burying himself to the hilt with just one determined thrust, fully impaling him on that beautiful, thick cock, so deep Michael couldn't even _breathe_. He just lay there shuddering and snapping for air, clenching around every inch of Haywire's hard length inside him. He was so hopelessly overwhelmed he barely even noticed the damn freak licking the side of his face, cleaning it of sweat and tears.

"Whoa.. you're so hot on the inside", Haywire kindly let him know with infuriating eloquence, "you're cold on the outside, but you're hot on the _inside_."

".. shut up.. and f-..", Michael suggested, struggling to even string a couple of syllables together on his end, ".. _focus_.."

"Okay."

Haywire leaned away, one hand still firmly gripping the engineer's upper arm, the other on his back, stroking it lightly. The lunatic seemed to be studying his tattoo again even whilst fucking him into the hard prison bed with ever increasing enthusiasm, though without any discernible technique. His hips were all over the place, jerking erratically against Michael's. But, God, with that glorious cock of his he didn't _need_ technique, it felt _perfect_ sliding in and out of the engineer's body over and over again, rubbing against his prostate with each deep thrust, stretching him in all the right places, as if it were made to fuck him. Michael slipped a hand underneath them, wrapping it around his long-suffering erection and letting Haywire fuck him into his own fingers each time their bodies rocked together. He pressed his face into the wet patch on the sheet, drooling as he fought to suppress the moans, less successfully so the closer he was getting. He could already feel his skin tingle as his senses went into overdrive, taking in every little detail, Haywire's musky smell underneath all the peppermint and the soap, the quiet little sounds he was making, almost sighs, the stickiness of their damp bodies tangled together. He took it all in, and yet his brain felt magnificently vacant, not analysing a single thing right now, not _thinking_. Not in control. He'd never been fucked into such utter oblivion before. His only fear was that the psycho might leave him hanging yet again when he was so damn _close_..

".. right there..", Michael sobbed, desperately pushing back into Haywire's cock, ".. don't stop.. oh God.. please don't stop.."

He could barely make out his own voice through the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

And, thankfully, Haywire didn't stop. He didn't go faster or harder either, like a _normal_ person would at this stage, leaving Michael to hover in this dark little space just before the point of no return, dragging out his orgasm for what felt like a blissful forever.

Before it came crashing over him with mind-boggling intensity, every cell in his body throbbing and exploding with heat, wiping him out completely. He was thrashing about on the bed as pleasure surged through his system wave after frothy wave, biting down on Haywire's fingers that, somehow, had appeared in his mouth. It just didn't seem to _stop_.

He had no idea how long it took until he regained some sort of gravity and self-awareness in the midst of that wonderful, warm darkness that enveloped him. Or how many times Haywire had to say his name before he actually heard it.

".. Michael?"

The lunatic had never addressed him by his first name before. Michael was vaguely surprised he even _knew_ it. He shouldn't have been surprised, really.

".. mh..?"

"I remember now", Haywire whispered against the engineer's shaved head, still stretched out on top of him.

It took Michael a little moment to realise what he was talking about, and then he couldn't help but smile to himself, stupidly drunk on endorphins. Good, he wanted to say. _Good_.

"..gnh..", he managed instead.

"I can-, I can draw it for you, you want me to draw the path?"

"Yes", Michael groaned, finally coercing his vocal chords into producing some more or less human sounds. "Go. Draw it."

"Okay."

It was only now that he realised that Haywire had pulled out already, and then all of the weight was gone from his back. Still, Michael lay flat on his stomach for a little longer, listening to his own frantic heartbeat thudding through his entire frame and the comforting scratching of pen on paper as Haywire started to draw. Nothing else. He was waiting for his muscles to stop trembling, and when they did, when they finally felt a little less like jelly he dared to sit up, slowly, supporting himself with both hands.

He peeked over at the other man, suddenly aware that Haywire had not actually come himself. The lunatic seemed a million miles away from where they were only minutes ago, caught in his own little world as he was manically drawing away, not even bothering to get dressed. It made Michael feel even dirtier, somehow. But as much as he wanted to, he just couldn't feel bad right now.

He reached across and threaded his arms through Haywire's, careful not to disturb him too much as he pulled up the mathematician's overall and dressed him as well as he could. Then he turned his attention to his own clothes. Neither of them spoke a word.

Michael had just finished doing up the top velcro of his overall when the cell door swung open. The nurse appearing in the doorway looked just as shattered as he _felt_.

"Mr. Scofield, Mr. Patoshik!", she scolded, suppressing a yawn. "We keep our doors open. You _know_ that, gentlemen."

"Sorry, Miss Miller", the engineer offered her his most charming smile.

She eyed them both suspiciously, shook her head and disappeared again. Michael was still grinning as he leaned back against the wall. The guilt, the self-loathing, there would be enough time for all of that. For now he was feeling sleepy and content, watching Haywire draw in his sketch block as he drifted off.


End file.
